


Hide it well

by Iben



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Female Sam Wilson, Gen, Rule 63, The Raft Prison (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:07:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iben/pseuds/Iben
Summary: After her arrest, Sam is interrogated by Secretary Ross himself.





	Hide it well

I am handcuffed to the table by one man, while two other stand guard on each side of me, their weapons trained at my head. All this, for little ol' me? 

Secretary Ross is already seated across the table from me. He is reclining in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. It looks staged to me. In his hand is a manila folder and he is studying its contents, like a cop in an old movie. 

With a barely visible nod he dismisses the guards. They retreat from the room and the door clicks shut. The sound is soft, but it feels definite. There are no windows in the room, not even a one-way mirror, but I can see the small red dot glowing in one corner, telling me I am being watched by more than one pair of eyes. 

My nose is itching, but I hold still. 

“Samantha Wilson,” Ross reads from the file. He is holding it so that I can't see what's in it. “Thirty-four years old. Honorable discharge. Mother, two sisters, one of whom is a doctor.” He makes an impressed face, then he turns his pale gaze to me. “Seems like a good life, a lot of opportunities.”

He snaps the file shut and uncrosses his legs, turning to face me. 

“And you threw it all away.” For a brief moment his tone of voice is almost avuncular. “For what? A man?”

Something glitters in his eyes. A taunt. 

I'm sweating. I wish I wasn't, I don't want him to notice, but I can't do anything about it. 

He sighs down at the folder on the table, as if there is something inside it that he can see, even through the cover. 

“You'd be surprised how common it is,” he says. “A charismatic leader, seemingly with a righteous cause. A lot of people fall for that.”

He looks at me a moment and I can't quite read his expression. 

“Made you feel special, did he?” he says and I feel almost relieved. I can see where he is going with this now, the angle he's working. If I know what to expect, I can prepare for it. 

I don't reply. That is my strategy and I'm going to stick to it. 

“Isn't it strange, then,” Ross continues, “that you're in here, and he's out there, with Barnes. Almost as if he threw you to the wolves.”

He doesn't know. He can never understand. 

“Have you never wondered?” he says, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “The lengths he's willing to go to, for Barnes... Doesn't it make you wonder exactly what went on in those trenches, back in WWII?”

For a moment he looks almost as if he's lost in thought, then he snaps out of it.

“You would know, I suppose,” he says and picks up the file again. He flips it open. “First there was Riley, and then Rogers.”

Blood rushes to my head. He throws me a glance and he can see the fury in my eyes, I know he can, because he looks pleased with himself. There was never anything remotely romantic between me and Riley and I itch to tell him that, to spit it in his face, but I hold my tongue. 

He languidly turns a page, as if he has all day, to sit there and pinprick me, again and again, and again, until I deflate like a balloon. 

“Given your service record, one would have thought you'd be smarter, but like I said, Rogers is a charismatic leader. We've seen it before. Spread your legs and think of America.”

He smiles at his own joke. I don't flinch; I'm a bit proud of that, actually.

“Or perhaps he has more appeal than that,” Ross says. “Maybe you were happy to be on your back for him. Or on your knees...”

He raises one eyebrow. The crudeness seems at odds with his clean-cut appearance, the expensive suit and the refined veneer, but I can see the hard military man beneath the surface. 

“You may think you know him,” he says, “but you don't. He's not a hero. He's not some... knight in shining armor. He's a weapon. I'm not sure he can even be called human.” He looks at me with something akin to disgust. 

It takes effort not to fidget, but I am determined not to give him anything. He's misinformed. Steve and I have never done anything. For a moment I'm glad Ross' intel is bad, then I realize it doesn't matter. His sullying remarks about the things he thinks I've done still stings, because I've wanted to do them. 

It's quiet for a moment. I wonder who else is watching. 

Ross takes a deep breath. “This stoic act,” he says then. “You might as well give it up. You are never getting out of here. You do understand that? You're gonna grow old in here.” 

I won't. Steve will come for me. He will come for me, and for Clint, and Wanda, and Scott. There's no doubt in my mind. He would never abandon any of us. 

“Not even your super-boyfriend can get in here and break you out,” Ross says. 

They underestimate Steve. It's funny how they keep doing that, I think to myself. Have they not seen him? They should know better by now.

“This is where it got you,” Ross says and indicates the room we're in with one hand, “following him.” He takes something from the file and flings it onto the table. “Was he worth it?”

It's a photograph of me, my mom, and my sisters. Taken a couple of years ago, outside the restaurant where we celebrated Mom's seventieth birthday. I had that photograph framed on a shelf in my living room. That they've been in my home makes my skin crawl. 

My heart clenches, as if squeezed by a giant fist, when I look at our smiling faces. I want to ask, so bad it feels like a physical force pushing against my throat. Are they okay? If you've harmed them, I swear to God, when I break free I'll rain hellfire down on you. But silence is my best defense. If I start talking, I will only provide them with more ammo to use against me. 

My family is okay, I tell myself. They have to be. They're ordinary citizens, civilians, who have done nothing wrong. Ross can't come after them.

Except, I was locked up in here without a trial. So who can say what he can do? 

He is watching me. 

“It's a trauma,” he says, “for the entire family, when something like this happens. Everyone copes as best they can, but... the public disgrace is difficult to handle, and many parents blame themselves, too.”

It takes me a second to understand what he's saying, but he's talking about me ending up on the wrong side of the law. 

“You may believe in whatever ideals Rogers claims to be fighting for, but there are three people right there who don't give a shit.” He nods at the photo. “I bet they're wishing, right now, that you never met Captain America.”

Maybe he's right. But he's also wrong. I don't know what lies my family have been told. Or what truths. But my Mom is the one who taught me to stand up for what I believe in. She taught me about loyalty. And she knows me. I think she probably knows I'm in love with Steve, too, even though I've never told her. 

“Let's end this, right now,” Ross says in a no-nonsense tone of voice, as if he's grown tired of me. “You give us Rogers and you get out of here. You'll see your family again.”

This is what he's been working up to. I expected either stick or carrot, and I can't deny I'm relieved he went with carrot. I remain quiet. 

“Don't be stupid,” he says. “Rogers chose Barnes over you.”

No, he didn't, I think. Except he did, in a way. But not like Ross is trying to make it out to be. There was no other way. And Steve won't leave me here. 

I meet Ross' gaze and say nothing. Truth is I don't know where Steve is. We have a couple of rendezvous points, in case we get separated, old back up plans. But there is no reason Steve would be at any of them now. I can make a couple of educated guesses, at most. 

I could lie through my teeth in an attempt to get out of here. But Ross would never fall for it. He wouldn't let me go until he had Steve, and perhaps not even then. 

There is frustration in Ross' expression. He tries to hide it, but it's there. The small jolt of triumph I feel is stifled by the cuffs, and this room, and this place. 

“You really are his bitch, aren't you,” he says after a few seconds. 

It's such a juvenile taunt, but here, cuffed to a table, it's a lot harder to just shrug it off than it should have been. I don't want to feel small, but I do, and my only solace is that I'm pretty sure I hide it well.


End file.
